


Postcards from Clara

by navaan



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Kissing, Romance, Time Travel, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 09:50:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2617466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny knows he has a girlfriend who is travelling around space and time and he doesn't need to be part of it. But it's nice to know that she thinks of him even if he doesn't come along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Postcards from Clara

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lsellers (Annariel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annariel/gifts).



> The wonderful recipient of this story made a wonderful banner for it:
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 

There was a loud bang in the background and Clara made a noise of surprise.

“What was that?” he asked into the phone. “Was there an explosion, Clara? Where are you now?” He didn't ask the question he really wanted to ask, namely, why the Doctor had taken her into the middle of danger _again_.

“What? Danny? Are you still there?” She sounded breathless and he could do nothing against the spike of worry that crept up on him. But then she - _giggled_ , a happy, unconcerned and still breathless sound. “That was amazing,” she breathed and he could hear the Doctor's deep voice from somewhere close to her telling her something.

“Clara?” he asked to get her attention. 

“Oh, Danny! That was just... it was just the most amazing thing. We're at this festival of Cartenion Blodsch. They have just -” Her voice was drowned out by another loud sound in the background.

“Is that shooting, Clara?”

“Fireworks! Alien fireworks, Danny. On another planet. You really should have come. It's so beautiful. I wish I could share it with you.”

“Nah,” he said. “I'm good right where I am. But you go have fun. Send me a postcard.” 

She chuckled. “I will!” she promised. “Or at least I'll try and bring you something.”

“Of course, you will. Just come back home safe and I'll be happy.”

“Promise!” she chirped and ended the call.

Not a minute later his phone beeped and he received a picture of fireworks that were all red and green and yellow and sparkling against a night sky. The shapes and forms were all wrong and even the light seemed impossibly strange.

“Much more beautiful in real life,” Clara texted, adding a smiley face emoticon.

He didn't care about the quality of the picture or even the beauty of any alien firework. He was only glad that Clara was apparently not in any danger today and that apparently she was enjoying her trip through space and time. That was all he needed to know.

* * *

He was walking down the corridor at school, kids running around him, trying to slow their steps when they saw him. He smiled, but told them sternly: “No running in the hallways.”

From the other side of the hallway Clara was walking up to him, also smiling. “Mr. Pink,” she said, books pressed to her chest and looking like she had just run a marathon. He had a feeling that she'd in fact had a little adventure just now, but didn't really want to ask. It was their agreement that he wouldn't pester her about any danger she decided to jump headlong into, but that she would tell him about all of it.

She fished something from her pocket and then pressed a little transparent container into his hands. Holding it out in front of himself to inspect it, he realized it contained nothing but dirty-grey sand. “Moon dust,” she said. “Not from the moon. Technically it's asteroid dust.”

“Not from...?” He stared at it, then at her questioningly. “Is this a souvenir?” 

“My mum used to collect sand from all the beaches we went to. I thought it would be nice.”

“It's nice,” he confirmed, looking at the unremarkable bit of dirt in the container. “Not because it's from wherever you got it,” he added. “But because you thought of me when you decided to bring it.”

She beamed at him and nodded. He nodded back, smiling. 

The middle of the hallway wasn't the place for kissing. But he knew there would be some later.

“I haven't forgotten about your postcard,” she told him and walked away, leaving him to wonder what that was supposed to mean.

* * *

On Saturday Clara was making them dinner at his place. She had called him into the kitchen twice to ask if he'd like shepherd's pie or chicken casserole. She had rambled something about soufflé and eggs and the need for milk and something about how she'd met the Doctor “back when bow ties were still a thing” and then added something about aliens called Daleks who had forgotten all about him. He didn't understand a word of it and he didn't want to interject and ask questions, because she was cute when she was rambling and moving through the kitchen like a whirlwind, _and_ because he didn't always like the answers he got when it came to the Doctor.

“You sure I can't help?” he said.

“No! No helping! I'm making dinner, Mr. Pink. And there will be absolutely no helping of any kind! No helping at all. Do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Miss Oswald.” He watched her buzz through his kitchen for a moment longer, smiling at the way she had thrown herself into the task. 

He walked out into the hallway, where he'd left the mail of the day. He picked it up to sort through it and found _three_ postcards. All three of them were from Clara. “Clara?” he called back to the kitchen.

One of the postcards was from Argentina, the other had been posted in Kyoto, Japan, and the final one was from Belfast. 

“Yes, Danny?”

“I think the postcard you promised me arrived.”

“Ah,” she called and stepped into the corridor. She leaned inside the door frame to watch him. 

“What's that supposed to be?” He held up the postcard from Buenos Aires to show her the roundish disklike picture beside her name. 

“The Doctor says it's his signature.”

“You made him sign?” He took in the lines and circles, tried to imagine Clara bossing him into signing and grinned.

“He wanted to,” she said and vanished back into the kitchen. “He's my friend and he thinks postcards are fun.”

“Of course, he does.” 

He was about to step into the living room, when the door bell rang. Clara smiled at him sweetly from the kitchen, leaning back against the counter and waiting – as if she knew something he didn't.

His first thought was that she had invited the Doctor to join them, so the two of them would get to know each other better and in her reasoning get to like each other. His face fell a little at the prospect. Every minute he had her all to himself was precious.

With this in mind he opened the door. Outside stood a young man in a suit that he'd never seen before in his life. “Mr. Danny Pink?” he asked.

“Yes, that's me.”

The man looked at him in awe as if he hadn't expected this to actually go this way. “This will sound incredible, but I work for a law firm and... This really sounds crazy. It's a bit of an office legend, you see. And here you are. _Danny Pink_...”

“What? What is it? Has something happened?” He couldn't think of a single reason for someone to be looking for him.

“We were asked by a client to deliver this letter on this date, at this hour to this address. And that this address actually exists... God, this probably is a stupid prank, isn't it? You know someone at Marcus & West, don't you? This is...”

“Marcus & West?”

“Our law firm.”

“No,” he said and frowned, “why would I? What letter?”

The young man pulled out a little package, it was wrapped in a thick brown envelope. Danny looked at it and then cautiously let what was inside fall out into his hand. Both he and his mysterious guest were staring at it as if it was the most fantastic thing in the world. It was a letter, folded in an old fashioned way, closed and sealed with wax and looking aged. 

“Our records say it was written in 1876 in Bath.”

“In Bath?” he repeated as if that was the one incredible fact inside that sentence. Because clearly he had just received a letter addressed to him, right here at his home address from times long past.

He smiled. “Thank you. I've been waiting for this.”

The man stared at him flabbergasted. “I... Can I ask who would..?”

“Don't worry, mate. I think it's a prank actually. You're the new guy at work?”

He nodded. “I knew it! It was Jimmy wasn't it? That stupid wanker.” Danny shrugged with a smile and watched him stomp down the corridor in a huff.

When the door had fallen closed he carefully opened the letter, mindful of the old paper. Clara was leaning in the kitchen doorway again, smiling softly, as he scanned the first paragraphs of what seemed to be a three pages long letter. He looked up and met her eyes. “You had some time on your hands in Bath. In 1876?”

She shrugged. “Boring company. And I was thinking of you.”

“When was that?”

“Oh, just this morning in a way.” She smiled and winked at him. “Thought the reading would give you something to do until I'm done cooking.”

* * *

The next time she visits, a pin board hung in his kitchen and all the postcards and even the letter were pinned to it. The little container with alien dust was hanging from a red string that had been fastened to it.

The newest one was pinned to it along with the others. “I haven't sent that yet,” she told him in a wistful tone. “Don't tell me anything I shouldn't know.”

“You just sent me kisses. From Germany. Apparently, only a few days ago, but from the future.”

When he came to stand beside her, observing the display, she leaned up and kissed him.

“I love you, Danny Pink.”

“I know that, Clara. And I love you.”


End file.
